


The Jacket

by walking_tornado



Series: WC Missing Scenes [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode: s01e03 Book of Hours, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter realizes Mozzie kept his FBI jacket overnight. (Missing scene from 1.03, The Book of Hours.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wc_rewatch.

***  
_Peter: Hey! Is that my jacket?_

_Neal: He works in mysterious ways._  
***

Peter stopped in mid-step as he and Neal walked out of the church.

"Peter?" Neal asked. The smile on Neal's face—a true smile in recognition of a job well-done—froze before slowly fading.

"Care to tell me," Peter said, and his careful enunciation flashed a danger sign to Neal, "why my FBI jacket has scorch marks on the back shoulder?"

"I have no idea."

"Neal!"

"Peter. It wasn't me. We were working all evening and then I was home until you picked me up in the morning. You can check my anklet."

"Oh, I will."

"I didn't do whatever you're accusing—"

Peter's sigh was more of a growl. "Your friend, then." Peter grabbed his arm and leaned in close. "I'm not stupid," he said, in a harsh, explosive whisper. "I know he was involved."

Neal opened his mouth to offer an explanation that might make the truth more palatable.

"Just don't talk." Peter let go of Neal rubbed forcefully at his temples. "You borrowed my jacket—"

"Because it was chilly," Neal added, using his most sincere expression. He'd thought he and Peter had been on the same page, with Peter giving him tacit permission to color outside the lines and get the job done. When Neal's earnest face seemed only to make Peter angrier, Neal cultivated his best blank look, waiting to see how to play the situation. He spared a minute to wonder what exactly Moz had been up to. Then he forgot to breathe. Maybe it had to do with Kate.

"Don't. Talk." Peter repeated with a glare.

That was good, Neal reflected, because his mind was racing too fast to come up with anything would get by Peter's downright scary bullshit detector. As he watched Peter quietly fume, possibly deciding his fate, Neal tested scenarios to link the burn marks on the jacket to his girlfriend's disappearance. That he couldn't immediately find a connection only made it worse.

"I should have known better," Peter said, as he began walking towards the car.

"What?" Neal hurried down the steps to catch up.

Peter ignored Neal and continued speaking in a low voice, as if to himself. "But I went along with it—"

"And we got the bible back!"

"Yeah, it's recovered," Peter acknowledged. "But that's not the way we do things."

"I don't know what happened to the jacket." Neal allowed some of his frustration to leak through. It hadn't escaped his notice that he wasn't included in Peter's "we." He needed Peter. Without Peter, Neal's search for Kate and the facade of freedom would come to a very quick, prison-door slamming, end.

Peter shook his head with a self-recriminating huff of a laugh. "What was I thinking? Should have expected this: too much temptation. Like a kid in a candy store." The disappointment underlying Peter's dry, sarcastic tone was worse than his initial anger.

"What happened to a leap of faith?" Neal asked. When Peter fixed him with a steely stare, Neal continued. "Give me time to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix. This," Peter shook the FBI-emblazoned jacket he held in a tight fist, "isn't the problem. You playing me—"

"I was _not_ playing you!" Neal's words came out faster and more forceful than he had intended, and something in them made Peter pause.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, though his glower never diminished. They stared at each other in silence until Peter's phone rang.

"Burke," Peter said, and he listened intently. "Yes sir." He tucked his phone back into his pocket then frowned at Neal. "Hughes wants my report on Burelli and the book. Tonight." He took a deep breath. "It's been a long day. Go home. But we will be talking about this tomorrow."

"Right," Neal said, and he watched Peter get into his car. He didn't let himself examine why Peter's disapproving look felt worse than his anger.

Neal had his phone out and had dialled the number before Peter had started his car. Peter pulled into traffic as Neal listened to the phone ring.

"Moz?" he said as soon as he heard the click on the other end.

"Maybe."

The cagey response made Neal close his eyes in frustration. "The blue egret sings on a signpost."

"Neal! What fortunate—"

"The FBI jacket. What happened? Is it Kate?"

"Huh?"

"The burns on the jacket, Moz."

"Oh!" Mozzie said, and even through the phone Neal could tell that he was smiling. "Do you remember that loan shark in Queens? You know, the one who dabbled—very ineptly, I might add—in moving gems through. . . "

Mozzie continued his animated story, skirting over some details, and Neal sighed with relief when he realized he'd be able to provide Peter with a verifiable explanation. Mozzie hadn't done anything _technically_ illegal, though Peter would probably call his petty act of revenge a grey area.

". . . and that's all I'll say over the phone. I'll tell you more at your place. On my way there now."

"Okay. See you there." Neal said. He stood still on the sidewalk with the phone in his hand, allowing the flow of people to move around him. The high of running a con on Maria Fiametta, the shared satisfaction of a job well done, the unexpected surge of adrenaline at Peter's accusation, and the fear for Kate's life: he was exhausted.

Mozzie was asleep on his couch when he entered June's guestroom. Without waking him, Neal hung up his work suit and put on something more casual. Then he let himself slump down onto a chair at his kitchen table. Kate's bottle stood in the center of the table. _Kate, where are you?_ he thought.

***


End file.
